Taking Northern Liberties

Rainbow Quartz; 2003

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The last time music like this was truly fashionable, a secretive administration was conducting a foreign war in pursuit of unclear goals, the Palestinians and Israelis were at each others' throats, and Bob Barker was hosting The Price Is Right. Just a coincidence, I guess, but I couldn't help noticing just how resolutely the same these and many other things have remained over the decades as Communism collapsed, the cost of living exploded, and computers took over our lives. Mark the Three 4 Tens up as yet another thread to the past-- the Philly trio has been all over this Nuggets thing for seven years now, and damned if they don't bring 1969 right back to life in the comfort of your living room.

They've got the requisite fuzztones and harmonized whoo-hoo-hoo's for the job, and they're newly signed to Rainbow Quartz, which is, like, the Lord-God-King of retro 60s revivalism in the post-Elephant 6 world. Their first full-length, 2001's rather ironically titled Change Is On Its Way, evoked the early years of experimentation and excess in rock better than a Wonder Years box set, and Taking Northern Liberties follows up with basically more of the same. Things skew a little darker this time around, though, as if the band's finally skid straight into drug paranoia.

The gaggle of ladies on the cover fiddling with bottles and handfuls of prescription drugs is the first indication of this, though the sharpest example is definitely the crunching riffage and muffled screaming of "Whore House and Suicide", which juxtaposes extremely unintelligible lyrics about just that with spirited backing vocals and a bruising drum assault. "I Believe" is a weirdly buoyant acoustic song on which two members (I'm not sure which ones) swap verses-- one in a Nick Cave-ish monotone and the other in an amateurish yelp. "I believe past the clouds/ There's a Heaven floating 'round" becomes "I believe past the stars/ It's all strip clubs and bars" just a few seconds later, and sparsely timed wah pedal dribblings keep things feeling uneasy as the song stays afloat by clinging to a brightly melodic keyboard.

Other songs don't dwell so much on the negative: opener "Philly Blues" is all thick harmonies and son-of-the-blues guitar hooks; "Jack the Tripper" is a bouncy tribute to altered states replete with harmonica and fuzz bass, and "Ride in Style" catches the glint of chrome on a passing muscle car in its circular guitar riff. But nothing quite tops the slow-burning psych of "My Stoned Ass" for sheer escapist thrill. It starts as a slow build of pick slides and cymbals, but finally grows impatient and, after about a minute, takes that elevator straight to the thirteenth floor, drums crashing, guitars digging in and maniacally chanted verses alternating with big, chunky choruses. The band slides into an old-fashioned freakout from there, a reverse build that pares back from guitar solos and violent drumming to heaving bass and creaking organs, decaying into something like a lost take of Pink Floyd's "Careful With That Axe, Eugene" before growling back for one last chorus.

There's really only one head-scratcher here, and that's the closer (though it's listed on the sleeve as the penultimate track), "Manned Space Flight". It's not necessarily bad, just totally incongruous-- rather than plunking me down a few minutes after LBJ left office, this bleepy instrumental sounds like what'll probably be on the radio while I'm vertical parking my hover car outside the Social Security office in 2064. It's like K-Tel closing out a garage-rock comp with a St. Etienne song, and makes no sense in this context. But aside from the confusion that move causes, the Three 4 Tens have once again managed to play their limited hand for a good return simply by playing it so well. Taking Northern Liberties is an enjoyable trip to a different era that, all told, may not be quite as far away as we think it is.